Guardian
by occaryx
Summary: After Cyrene, Isador Akios knows that his Captain is suffering. But what he chooses to do about it may do more harm than good. Dawn of War, Isador, Gabriel Angelos.


Last of the areyougame fics for the prompt: "Memory loss - let me take away your pain."

Less action in this one, just trying to get more of a feel for how Gabriel and Isador's friendship turned out as it did.

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><p>Gabriel Angelos is praying.<p>

In the dim light of the votive candles, he kneels before a golden image of the Emperor, head bent and hands clasped in the sign of the Aquila. His broad shoulders are hunched, the drape of his robes turned to black in the gloom. Seated at the back of the Chapel, Isador Akios can hear him whispering the litanies of purity and strength.

The Captain has been here for fourteen hours in prayer and meditation, and Isador has been with him throughout. For three weeks now, since the burning of Cyrene, the Librarian has been Gabriel's shadow. At his shoulder, at his side, close enough to touch and within reach should his Captain need him. This role he has shared with Chaplain Prathios, but where Prathios is a silent, watchful presence, Isador has stepped forward to be Gabriel's support in a manner more befitting an old friend.

The destruction of Cyrene weighs heavily on every Blood Raven, but never more heavily than on the shoulders of the man who ordered in the Inquisition. Cyrene is nothing but ash and smouldering flame now; even after three weeks the fires of the Exterminatus will still be burning. All that they once were, all that they once called themselves before they took on the blood and faith of the Astartes, is gone.

Isador remembers everything they have told him of the life he once lived. Remarkable things from a time of trials that stood out, and he must believe the legends that have been spun around both himself and the Captain, for he has no reason to doubt them. The only two aspirants to have come through the trials together at Cyrene - he and Angelos, warrior and psyker. They made history together that day, binding themselves to one another in blood and sacrifice. And three weeks ago they made history again, returning to the world of their birth to condemn it to the righteous, purifying fire of the Emperor's Justice. Since that day, Isador has not left his Captain's side.

The air in the Chapel is heavy with the smoke of sacred incense, and warm from the heat of the Battle Barge's vast engines flanking the hall on either side, their furious power leaking through even the thickest of bulwarks and shielding. It makes of the great room a strangely comfortable retreat, at odds with the high, vaulted ceiling and towering stained glass window facing out onto the Void beyond. Here in the most sacred chamber of the Litany of Fury, there should be peace. Nonetheless, without even needing to stretch himself, Isador can feel the ripple of pain that emanates from Gabriel.

Three weeks ago he stood at Gabriel's side as his Captain sent his request to the Inquisition and would have reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, had Gabriel's mien not communicated so clearly his need to stand alone at that moment. To bear the sin and the shame of it on his own shoulders.

_There is no sin in this, Gabriel. You did only that which was necessary_.

Isador knows that his words went unheeded on that day, for the grief hidden behind Gabriel's eyes and the pain that hovers still like a shroud around his Captain's shoulders is evidence enough. To have condemned their own world to death, no matter how corrupted it had become, was a step that would have broken a lesser man.

Gabriel Angelos has led his company through the fires of battle and brought them through unscathed time and again. His honour, and his reputation, are spotless. Nonetheless, Isador can feel the confusion coiling in his brother Marine, the grief and the poison touch of uncertainty. It is unlike his Captain to doubt himself, but the spark and crackle of Gabriel's self-recrimination burns the air with its psychic touch. It makes Isador frown and Chaplain Prathios, that ever vigilant guardian of their moral purity, hover silently in the shadows and watch. But Prathios, for once, is not here. It is but Gabriel and his Librarian alone in the Chapel.

Along the columns the braziers flicker, throwing moving shadows across the walls and picking out the gold trim on Isador's power armour. He cannot tell if Gabriel is aware of his presence, or if his mind is merely elsewhere, fixed upon his prayers. All he can tell of the Captain is that he exists in the midst of a moral conflict, his thoughts turned to the Emperor in search of guidance. Isador feels a pang of something that must be akin to sympathy. For a Librarian it is difficult not to perceive the emotions of others, and without their rigorous training it would be all too easy to mistake those emotions for their own.

Moving silently, he rises from his seat at the back of the Chapel, making his way slowly down the central aisle towards his Captain. Even from the other end of the chamber he has been able to feel the other man's grief. As he draws nearer the intensity of it pours over him, beating at his defences almost like an attack. This will not do, it cannot stand. A Captain of the Astartes who suffers in this way is straying perilously close to an unforgivable show of weakness.

Isador hesitates. He is close enough now to Gabriel that he could reach out and touch the other man, and yet he knows from the currents of thought on the aether that he has not been noticed. In his mind's eye he can see as Gabriel does - the black ships of the Inquisition, and the death of a world. He can feel the fury of battle as they fought to cleanse the populace of their taint; the disgust at what had become of their home world; the ice in the heart of one who most make the hardest of choices. Finally, the guilt that maybe, just maybe, there could have been another way.

_Gabriel, no..._ he thinks. _We did all that we could, brother. There was no other way_.

This guilt his friend clings to is nothing but an opening for the corruption of self-doubt, the poisoning of faith and Isador cannot abide it. As a Librarian it is his duty to guard and guide his brothers, to protect them from doubt that they might make such decisions confidant that all the possibilities have already been weighed, that their actions are justified. For Gabriel to doubt in this way implies that his faith in his own Librarian, in his own friend, has faltered.

At once, Isador feels ashamed of the thought. He detects no such misgivings in his friend's mind, only a deep and abiding sadness, behind which coils the first tendrils of regret. It is, he thinks again, unacceptable. No Marine under his protection, no Captain under his guidance, no friend of his should suffer doubt in this way.

He regards the man kneeling before him, lost deep in prayer. The broad, muscled shoulders are tense beneath his meditation robes, the whispered litanies harsh against the silence. It occurs to him that for a Librarian of his skill it would be but the work of a moment to remove the memories that plague his friend. To pluck them from the roiling mass of confusion that binds the other Marine's mind and free him from his self-doubt.

It is not normally the place of a Librarian to do such a thing, it is the job of an Apothecary under the strict direction of a Chaplain. But are any of the Chaplains aware of the need? They do not feel this pain of their Captain's as clearly and as keenly as Isador does. And Gabriel is his friend. There is none other alive that knows Captain Angelos as his Librarian and oldest friend, Isador Akios.

Caught up in the thought, Isador reaches out one hand. He will take this pain from his Captain, erase the memories that torture him and give him back the confidence in his own decisions that he always used to have. His fingers are but a hairs-breadth away from Gabriel's shoulder when suddenly he becomes aware of another presence. It is watching him closely, focussed tightly upon his every movement. Isador pauses, his train of thought broken and turns sharply to look over his shoulder. From the other end of the Chapel, his skull helm cold and impassive, Chaplain Prathios is watching him intently.

For a long few moments the Librarian and the Chaplain simply regard one another. Prathios does not move, nor does he speak. Isador can feel the other man's cold scrutiny, his Chaplain's faith making his mind near impossible to penetrate. In that instant it occurs with cold clarity to Isador that he has overstepped his bounds. Regardless of good intention, what he meant to do is not the duty of a Librarian, it is the work of a Chaplain. Startled by the realisation, he straightens up and his hand falls once more to his side.

"Isador?"

They both turn at the word. Gabriel is looking up over his shoulder, his gaze moving in confusion between the both of them.

"What is it, my friend? Has something occurred?"

Isador inclines his head and takes a step away. "No, Gabriel," he replies. "I simply came to speak my own devotions. I see that you are busy here however, and I shall leave you to your prayers."

He can feel Angelos' gaze upon him, even though he cannot quite meet his eyes. However the Captain's mind is empty of suspicion, for which the Librarian is deeply grateful. It would not do for Gabriel to have guessed at his slip. He straightens, turning before the Captain can reply and stalks away down the central aisle of the Chapel. In the doorway he passes Prathios, but he does not pause to meet the Chaplain's gaze. Nonetheless he can feel the other man's eyes resting thoughtfully upon him until long after he has passed from the chamber.

In the Chapel, on his knees before the golden icon of the Emperor, Gabriel Angelos resumes his prayers.


End file.
